by Alan Gordon
“That will work,” agreed Father Esaias. “But you will have only the one opportunity. If you have the wrong day, then it will be hard for you to get back in on short notice.”
“Which is where you come in,” I said to Thalia.
“How?” she asked.
“Find out from Stanislaus when the deed is to be done,” I said.
She gave me a hard stare.
“You mean, sleep with him and get it out of him that way,” she said bitterly.
“You’ve been sleeping with him,” I pointed out impatiently, “for a few years, now.”
“But this is different, and you know it,” she snapped. “This isn’t pleasure anymore. But that’s all right with you, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve become—Thalia, the Guild Whore.”
“Don’t you understand?” I shouted. “This isn’t about you. There is an invasion coming! A bloody war that could kill thousands and lay the empire to waste!”
She sat in silence, stunned. I took a deep breath and continued.
“But if we keep Isaakios alive and take away the boy’s claim to the throne, then that may be the one thing that can stop the war. Everyone in the Guild has done horrible things for the sake of peace. Why should this be any different?”
“You don’t have to sleep with him,” Aglaia said softly to Thalia. I turned to look at her. “You can get the information another way. Given what he’s done to you, and to your friends, I wouldn’t waste any more time on him. Get him alone, get him undressed, then hit him with something hard and tie him up.”
“And then?”
“I’ve been told you carry four knives,” said Aglaia. “Use all of them.”
Thalia looked at her, and smiled slowly. It was the coldest smile I have ever seen in my life.
Father Melchior came in and whispered something to Father Esaias.
“Simon’s not at the Rooster,” Esaias informed us. “His belongings have been cleared out. Someone else is tending bar and cooking for him, but he doesn’t know where Simon went.”
“Gone to ground,” I said. “Probably already in Blachernae somewhere.”
“I’ll be back in the morning,” said Thalia. “I’ll have the information.”
She left.
“I have to go, too,” said Aglaia.
“One of my men will escort you to Blachernae,” said Father Esaias. “And I’m having another follow Thalia, just to be safe. I am now going to turn my back for a moment so that the two of you may embrace.”
He stood and contemplated a bust of Homer by the fireplace.
“Good night, Apprentice,” I said, and I kissed her.
“What terrible things will I be doing for the Guild, I wonder?” she asked.
“None tonight,” I said.
She left.
“Would you rather stay here tonight?” offered Esaias. “It’s the safest place in the city for you.”
“No, I’ll go back to the Rooster,” I said. “I want to keep up appearances in case anyone wants to check up on me.”
“Very well,” he said. “But Stephanos will be watching your door, and more of my men will be guarding the Rooster.”
“Thank you. I’m putting you to a lot of bother.”
“It’s no bother,” he said, and I could see him smiling under the cowl. “We’re up at night, anyway.”
I woke before dawn. When I opened my door, Stephanos was standing in the hallway, watching the stairs. He nodded to me politely as I passed him, then went into his room to sleep. I walked outside to see the sun rise, but clouds blocked it from view. I did my stretching and tumbling exercises, the same routine that they taught me at the Guildhall so many years ago. The left leg was limber, but warned me of an oncoming storm. As if I needed to be told.
Father Esaias was up and about when I arrived at Saint Stephen’s. A tray of bread, still warm from the oven, was on the table, and he motioned me to help myself. A good fool makes sure that he eats, no matter what, so I forced myself to swallow some.
There was a rap on the panel, and Father Melchior brought in Thalia. She sat down wordlessly and helped herself to a goblet of wine, which she gulped in a second. She refilled it, then held it in salute to me.
“To the Guild,” she said, and finished it off.
I waited.
“It’s tonight,” she said. “Simon’s somewhere in Blachernae. The Imperial Guard changes shifts at sundown. The two men guarding the entrance at night are in on it. Simon will be carrying a wineskin for delivery to the prison garrison. Then he will continue on to the lowest level, where Isaakios is being held.”
“And Stanislaus?”
She held my gaze steady.
“He won’t be reporting for duty today,” she said. “And that’s it for me.”
“Thank you, Thalia. That was good work. If I survive the night, I’ll try and get you restored to the Empress’s court.”
“You don’t understand, Theo,” she said. “I meant, that’s it for me and the Guild. I’m not doing it anymore. I let all of you down.”
“No, you didn’t. You were nearly killed. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Yes, I can. I was careless, and then I let myself be used. And Zintziphitzes died because of that.”
She started crying.
“And eight years ago, you abandoned me without so much as saying good-bye,” she continued. “That hurt so much.”
“I left you a note,” I protested.
“A note. After all we had been for each other, you couldn’t find me. Then you show up years later married to another fool, and treat me like a common drab.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For everything.”
“I’m not in a particularly forgiving mood right now. I’ve just spent the night torturing a man to death, Theo. For the Guild. For another one of our useless battles. We can’t change anything, Theo. Can’t you see that? The forces against us are too powerful.”
“I don’t accept that,” I said softly. “But if you want to quit, go ahead. What do you want me to tell the Guild?”
“Tell them I’m dead,” she said. “I might as well be. Tell them that I died with the others. Thalia is no more. I have to flee Constantinople, anyway. I’ve murdered an Imperial captain.”
“Here,” I said, handing her my purse.
She opened it, and stared at the money.
“This is too much,” she said. “I can’t take this.”
“I don’t need it,” I said. “We’re set. Here, take it. It will help you find a new life somewhere. Buy yourself a small farm; find yourself someone who will be around all the time. Have a family.”
She tucked it into her waistband and stood.
“I ran away from a farm when I was nine,” she said. “From a father who beat me when I wouldn’t submit to him. I was on the streets for two years until the Guild found me and made me a jester. I may not be a jester anymore, but I will never go back to a farm.”
“You could work for me,” offered Esaias. “I could find a great deal of use for a woman with talents like yours. And I don’t mean prostitution. I mean thievery, the most honored of crafts.”
“Thank you, I suppose,” she said. “But I must turn you down, Father. No offense, but I haven’t sunk that low yet.”
And she walked out.
“Oh, but you will, my child,” murmured Esaias. “Of that much I am certain.”
I picked up my bag and lute and slung them over my shoulders.
“You could go to the authorities with what you know now,” commented Esaias.
“With the words of a dead man, as related by the woman who has killed him and fled?” I said.
“Perhaps not,” he said. “Good luck, then. Our desires converge on this venture, albeit for different reasons.”
“Thank you, Father,” I said.
He made the sign of the Cross over me, and I left for Blachernae.
The Emperor was in a black mood when I arrived.
“It’s wrong, Fool. All wrong,” he mutte
red. “I shouldn’t have listened to them. So what if he’s blind? Anemas is still a hellhole. It’s where we put people to suffer. It was a weak moment when I gave in, and I can’t go back on it now because I’ll look indecisive, and I can’t have that.”
“I understand, milord,” I said. “Still, it is a shame to think of him so immured, lacking even the simple entertainment that he had before. The confinement of the body is not nearly as grievous as the confinement of the mind.”
“I am trying to see how that is supposed to cheer me up,” he said. “That’s what I pay you to do.”
“Merely a preamble to what I was about to suggest, milord.”
“What’s that?”
“That you would do me great honor if you would permit me to go into this underworld and entertain your brother, if only for the one night. It might ease the transition for him.”
He looked at me, his eyes watering.
“Good Fool, you put me to shame,” he said. “Your generosity of heart and spirit rival any that I have seen in the Church.”
“Your Majesty flatters me,” I said, bowing. Actually, I considered that faint praise, but it was not the moment to debate the point.
The Emperor turned to his guards, then stopped.
“Where is Captain Stanislaus?” he complained.
One of the guards stepped forward.
“A maidservant left word with us this morning,” he said. “The Captain is ill, and did not wish to expose Your Majesty to any contagion.”
Nice touch, Thalia, I thought.
“How very considerate,” said Alexios. “Well, fetch the Keeper of the Imperial Inkstand, would you?”
The guard vanished, and soon returned with the official, a grandiose fellow in maroon robes. He did not actually carry the inkstand and pen himself, but with two snaps of his fingers directed a pair of servants to kneel before the throne and proffer the sacred items on silver salvers to the Emperor.
“How long do you plan to be at it?” he asked.
“Sire, I will go upon completion of my duties to Your Majesty, and will stay there all night if need be.”
He took a piece of paper, scribbled on it, and then sealed it.
“There,” he said, handing it to me. “You will be rewarded for this, I promise you.”
I bowed and tucked the document into my doublet.
There still was the day’s entertainment to get through, but fortunately I was dismissed shortly after his luncheon. I needed to get inside before the evening shift came on. I couldn’t risk being stopped by Stanislaus’s compatriots.
Aglaia intercepted me before I left the palace. I transferred my juggling cutlery to her so that I could pass inspection at the prison. We discussed our plan of action.
“There is one basic flaw in your idea,” she said as she walked me to the Empress’s entrance.
“What is that?”
“Simon will probably be armed. You won’t be. He’s bigger than you, he’s faster than you, and he has already killed several of our colleagues, all of whom had Guild training. What makes you think you can beat him?”
“Because I know he’s coming. And because, at the bottom of it all, I am the master of survival.”
She placed her hand on my cheek.
“You had better be right,” she said.
“I will see you in the morning, Duchess,” I said, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Not nearly good enough,” she said, and pulled my head down to hers.
The Tower of Anemas was set against the wall that protected Blachernae from without. It was named for some long-forgotten prisoner. There were various legends as to who he was, my favorite being that he was the architect who designed the tower, only to find himself its first resident upon its completion.
The garrison was next to the tower, providing quarters for several squadrons of the Imperial Guard. No bathhouses here, but a nearby gate led to a small beach by the Golden Horn given to their exclusive use.
The entrance to the prison was at the base of the tower. Some noblewomen, either wives of prisoners or just good people on missions of mercy, were leaving as I came up, some weeping, some carrying empty baskets, all clutching handkerchiefs to their faces. The entryway exuded a pestilential odor, although the guards seemed oblivious to it. The storm predicted by my leg hit just as I walked through the door, sheets of water cutting us off from the rest of the world.
I showed my order from the Emperor to the guards outside. They motioned me into a small office where the commander of the day watch read it over carefully.
“Well, nice of His Majesty to care,” he said. “Hands against the wall, spread your legs.”
I complied while he patted me down for weapons.
“You’re a thorough man,” I observed. “Keep it up, I might begin to enjoy it.”
“I already am,” he said. “What’s in the bag?”
“My props for entertaining,” I said, holding it open.
He inspected it, emptying its contents out onto the table. Although I had left my knives and swords behind, the clubs gave him pause.
“You could kill a man with these,” he said, hefting one and rapping it on the wall.
“That wasn’t my intention,” I said.
“Nevertheless, I’m keeping them here,” he said. “You can take the rest. I’ll have one of my men take you down.”
“Down?” I asked, gathering my lute and remaining gear. “I thought the prison was in the tower.”
“The tower guards the wall,” he said. “The prison is beneath it.”
He gave an order, and one of his men took a lit torch from a sconce in the wall.
“This way, Fool,” he said.
I followed him through another door that led to a flight of steps leading down. When we reached the bottom, he seized an iron ring at our feet and pulled open a heavy wooden trapdoor over another stairway that vanished into the darkness six feet beneath us.
“He’s down there,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He watched as I started cautiously down the steps.
“What about the torch?” I asked, turning to look back up at him.
“It stays with me,” he said.
“But there’s no light down there. How am I supposed to perform?”
“Not my problem,” he said. “Have a good time.”
My head had barely cleared the entrance when the door crashed over me, eliminating whatever view I still had of the world. I heard bars set into place over it, and for a brief, panicky moment wondered if I had been betrayed, tricked into some oubliette and abandoned. There was a rough, wooden rail on my right, fortunately, and I gripped it tightly as I felt for each step with my foot. I do not know how many steps I descended. I was beginning to think that the stairway might go straight to Hades, and that I might meet Orpheus himself coming back up, when I suddenly hit floor and the railing ended.
I ventured forward slowly, reaching out with both arms. Before I had gone five steps, a voice cried out, “Halt!”
“Hello?” I said.
“Please move two steps to your right,” it continued. “You were about to kick over the slops bucket.”
“That would have been messy,” said another voice to my right. “Tell you what; stay where you are, and I’ll move it out of your way.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I heard a chain rattle, and sensed a body shuffling quickly in my direction.
“Got it,” said the second man. “I’m putting it over by me in case anyone needs it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t see anything.”
There was a low chuckle coming from all directions.
“Join the club,” said another. “The Fraternity of the Gouged. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“Poor fellow,” said a deep voice. “Are you in much pain?”
“Thank you for your concern, but I am not blind,” I said.
“Really? Then you’re in the wrong d
ungeon. You really should complain,” he said, and the room echoed with the raucous laughter of the others.
“I am in the right room,” I said. “That is, if this is where the Emperor is.”
There was silence.
“Who are you?” came the deep voice.
“I am Feste, the Fool,” I said. “I have been sent to entertain the Emperor Isaakios.”
“Over here,” said the deep voice.
“Are you the Emperor?”
“I speak for him,” he said.
“Then how am I to know if he is here?” I asked. “For I am to entertain him, or my mission will fail.”
“You’re no fool,” said an older, querulous voice. “You’re an assassin.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” it continued. “You think I don’t know why they brought me here? My brother is going to have me killed.”
“Hush, my sovereign,” said the deep voice. “Don’t give away your location.”
“My Lord Isaakios,” I said. “I am here at the Emperor Alexios’s Behest . . . .”
“I am the Emperor,” he shouted. “He is a usurper!”
“Forgive me, my Lord Emperor,” I said. “I am just a jester. I have been sent to entertain you. If it will ease your mind, I will remain where I am, safely out of reach.”
There was a pause.
“Are you truly a jester?” asked Isaakios.
“By King David, I swear it,” I said. “By the First Fool, Our Savior, I swear it. By a pig’s bladder, by a rotten vegetable hurled from a balcony, by a maltuned lute and the bottom of a cask, I swear it.”
“He speaks as a fool,” said one of the others.
“Well, if you are a fool, juggle for us,” said Isaakios.
“Excuse me, milord?”
“Prove your foolish mettle. Juggle.”
“Juggle in the dark for an audience who cannot see? Milords, this is more of a metaphor than a performance.”
This provoked a few chuckles.
“The fools at my court could juggle blindfolded,” said Isaakios.
“As can I,” I replied. “But if you blindfold the audience, you don’t have to juggle that well.”
“But we can hear,” he said. “Please.”
I felt in my bag for three apples and sent them into the air. I felt the men stirring about me, leaning forward. The strangest performance I have ever given. In a sense, it was pure faith all around. I threw apples into the air, trusting my ability to do it accurately, knowing I had succeeded when they landed precisely in the opposite hand.